In the Footsteps of Crazy Horse (13 page)

7

Fort RobinSon

AFTER A NIGHT IN A MOTEL IN CASPER, WYOMING,
Jimmy and his grandfather drove east. They turned off Interstate 25 onto Highway 20. Sixty some miles later they were back in Nebraska.

Grandpa Nyles slowed down a few miles from Fort Robinson and turned onto a road. There was a scenic overlook. The view was of hills and ridges toward the east, and prairies all around. Below them to the east was the broad valley
on either side of the White River. Grandpa Nyles stepped down from the truck with binoculars in hand and waved for Jimmy to follow him.

He looked briefly through the glasses, aiming them a bit to the northeast. After a moment he handed them to Jimmy.

“Look at those bare ridges,” he said, pointing.

Jimmy took the glasses. He immediately saw the ridges.

“In May of 1877, after weeks of travel, they came that far,” Grandpa Nyles said. “I imagine from there they could look down into the valley and see Fort Robinson. That moment, when they were looking down, was a critical time.”

“What does that mean, Grandpa?” Jimmy asked, still looking through the binoculars.

“Well, the winter after the Greasy Grass Fight was very hard,” his grandpa said. “No game, little food, and it was hard to find ammunition. The soldiers attacked them once. Lakota people from Fort Robinson were sent up to talk to Crazy Horse and his elders. They were urged to surrender.

“In the end, Crazy Horse and the elders thought the welfare of the women, the children, and the old people was more important. Besides, out of a thousand people, there
were only about a hundred and thirty warriors. Sitting Bull and his people had crossed into Canada. So Crazy Horse and his band were alone against the whites. They decided to surrender. That's what brought them here.”

Jimmy lowered the binoculars and looked around at the land. It was a warm late-spring day.

“Was it like this, Grandpa, when they came here?”

“Probably was, same time of the year. The reason we're here is that at Fort Robinson, Crazy Horse did what I think was the bravest thing he ever did in his life.”

“He did? What was that?”

The way it was—May 1877

Several riders had stopped their horses at the edge of the bluff. From there the valley below was green and peaceful. They could see the river to the south and many hide lodges among the thickets near the stream. Some of the lodges were made of canvas. West of the lodges was the Long Knives' place called Fort Robinson. Crazy Horse stared at the buildings
.

“Cousin,” said a voice next to him, “it's not too late to turn back.”

Crazy Horse glanced at his friend Little Big Man. “And what would we do?”

Little Big Man pointed north. Behind them was a line of people and horses. Everyone was resting in the afternoon sun. “I think it's a mistake to go down there,” he said firmly. “So do many of our young men. We're willing to go on fighting.”

“I know. So am I,” said Crazy Horse. “That's what warriors do. But what happens if we all die? What will happen to our women and children and old ones? Who will be left to protect them?”

Little Big Man sighed. “Those are difficult questions to answer,” he admitted
.

“We know the answers,” Crazy Horse retorted sadly. “That's why we're here. That's why we decided to join all our relatives down there.”

Little Big Man had no answer. He glared at the distant white-man buildings. Soon his glare turned to sadness
.

A young man rode up to join them. “Uncle,” he said to
Crazy Horse, “some of the people want to fix food and eat before we go down there.”

Crazy Horse nodded. “Yes,” he said. “There's no hurry. The new, strange life among the whites will wait. It will be there.”

All too soon the meals were eaten and the fires put out. There was a strange feeling of uncertainty. Down in the valley was the Long Knife stronghold. East and west of it were many, many lodges. Lakota people were down there, perhaps ten thousand or more. Many of them were relatives and friends. But waiting, also, was a new and unknown way of life under the control of whites. That unknown made Crazy Horse's people reluctant to finish their long and arduous journey. In these last moments on the bluff, they were free. What would be their situation tomorrow? Would they be free? That was the question that made them all uncertain and sad
.

There was no use putting it off any longer
.

Crazy Horse sat with Black Shawl, his wife. “Stay with my mother and father,” he told her gently. “I don't know what will happen. Whatever happens, stay with them.”

Black Shawl squeezed his hand. The sadness in her husband's eyes was unsettling to her. She squeezed his hand again and gently touched his face
.

“I will,” she said. “We will be all right.”

With a heavy heart, Crazy Horse left his wife and mounted his horse. As usual, he took the lead. Many of the warriors rode behind him. In a way, it seemed as though this was the longest part of the journey—from the top of the bluff to the bottom of the slope. At the end of the slope, and across a wide meadow, was the stronghold of the Long Knives
.

Ahead of them, Lakota people were gathering among the buildings. The news had gotten around quickly: Crazy Horse and his people were coming in
.

Several of the younger warriors moved up behind Crazy Horse. “Uncle,” one of them called out, “we could charge the Long Knives. We could surprise them.”

“Yes,” said another, excitedly. “We could defeat them.”

“You may be right,” Crazy Horse said to them over his shoulder. “But later on the Long Knives would attack our women and children. That is their way.”

The warriors fell silent. But Crazy Horse shared their feelings. He could feel their anger over the situation
.

He saw a Long Knife in a white hat standing alone. Near him stood a group of older Lakota men who wore dark scowls on their faces
.

Suddenly one of the warriors behind Crazy Horse began singing a Strong Heart song. His voice was loud, strong, and defiant. In a moment another warrior began singing, then another, and yet another. Soon the voices were many and could be heard from a distance
.

Crazy Horse knew he could not stop them from singing. He also knew his warriors were angry and ready to fight. Anything could set them off. If something happened and there was an exchange of gunfire, the women and children would be hit by bullets
.

He could hear the warriors pushing up close behind him. Hoping they would not rush past him, he kept his horse to a slow walk. Again he noticed the Long Knife standing apart. Crazy Horse knew the man. “White Hat” Clark, he was called
.

Crazy Horse turned his horse toward White Hat Clark.
He stopped when he could clearly see the man's face. As he had hoped, the warriors behind him stopped as well, though many of them were still singing loudly
.

Crazy Horse dismounted and led his horse toward the Long Knife. A few paces from the man, he stopped. White Hat Clark seemed puzzled
.

Slowly, Crazy Horse lifted his rifle, holding it level with the ground. He was careful not to point the muzzle toward the Long Knife. In a moment, the man in the white hat realized what Crazy Horse was doing
.

The Lakota leader was giving up his rifle: a sign of surrender
.

White Hat Clark walked forward and slowly took the rifle. Crazy Horse then led his horse forward and held out the rein to the white man. The Long Knife took the horse as well
.

Behind them, the singing stopped. Without his horse and gun, Crazy Horse turned toward his men. He gazed at them evenly, no anger or apprehension in his eyes, only a quiet calmness
.

Jimmy looked up at his grandfather. The old man's voice had faltered as he told the story.

“What happened then, Grandpa?” he asked.

“Crazy Horse's warriors gave up their weapons, too. He was their leader; he showed them the way. There's no doubt in my mind that that was the bravest thing he ever did.

“He agreed with what his men wanted to do. He wanted to keep on fighting. He knew that the Lakota warrior was a better war fighter than the Long Knife soldier. There was no lack of courage or skill. The problem was numbers. There just weren't enough Lakota warriors. Not enough men, not enough guns, not enough ammunition.

“Giving up his rifle and his horse went against everything that he was, everything that he stood for as a warrior. He did it for the helpless ones, the old people, the women, and the children.”

They got back in the truck and drove the few miles to Fort Robinson State Park. Jimmy felt it was a sad place.

Grandpa Nyles pulled into the parking area near the log buildings. Jimmy saw the low stone monument where Crazy Horse had been wounded.

“Do you remember his dream?” Grandpa Nyles said, making no move to step out of the pickup. “The dream he had when he went out alone, near Fort Laramie?”

Jimmy nodded. “I do, Grandpa.”

“Do you remember the part where those men come out of the ground and surround the rider? The men who look like the rider? The men who took him down?”

Jimmy nodded.

“Well, let me tell you what happened after Crazy Horse and his people had been here for four months,” Grandpa Nyles said. “The whites were afraid of him. After all, he had fought the great General Crook to a standstill at Rosebud Creek, and he defeated Custer at the Greasy Grass. They were afraid he would lead an uprising against them.

“On the other hand, some of the Lakota leaders were jealous of him. They were afraid the Indian Bureau would make him chief over them. So basically someone decided to get him out of the way. I think the intent was to send him to Florida and put him in prison there.”

“Florida?”

“Yeah, there were prisons there. Indians from various
tribes were sent there, notably Cheyenne and Apache. Anyway, Crazy Horse knew there was trouble coming, so he wanted to talk to General Crook, the man in charge. He took Black Shawl to safety, to the village of his cousin Touch the Clouds, east of here.”

“Touch the Clouds?”

“Yes, he was a leader among the Mniconju Lakotas, and it's said he was nearly seven feet tall.”

“Wow!” Jimmy exclaimed.

“Anyway, Crazy Horse took his wife there and was on his way back when the Indian police met him. The Indian police were Lakota who worked for the Long Knives. One of them was Little Big Man.”

“Little Big Man?” Jimmy asked. “Wasn't he a friend of Crazy Horse's?”

“He still was,” said Grandpa. “But now he was working for the Long Knives. There were other Lakota men who were working for the Long Knives, too.”

Jimmy sort of knew the story, but he waited for his grandfather to finish it.